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Jul 25, 2015

One Sunday afternoon, Kevin the Vampire and I were at the beer bust at the San Francisco Eagle, when a twink caught my eye . He was wearing a white t-shirt with a weird dark stain at the belly, jeans torn at the knee, and a light brown jacket -- quite out of place amid the leather-clad bears and muscle daddies.

He was in his 20s, tall, slim, blond, very pale. Not my usual type, but he had a handsome, almost angelic face, and he looked...lost. Everyone was giving him major attitude.

"Poor guy wandered into the wrong bar," I told Kevin.

He looked around. "Who do you mean?"

I pointed. "The cute twink in the brown jacket?"

He peered into the crowd. "Sorry, I can't pick him out. But cruise him, if you like. I'll be more than willing to share anyone you find attractive."

Too late -- a drunken muscle bear with thick bear-hair on his chest and shoulders had already approached. He had skipped the conversation stage of cruising, moving immediately into groping. The twink looked uncomfortable, even frightened. Didn't he know how to give Attitude?

That was my "in" -- coming to the rescue. I grabbed a bottle of beer from the bartender, walked over, and said "Here's your beer, babe. Sorry it took so long."

"Didn't know you spoken for," the muscle bear growled. He dislodged his hand from the boy's crotch and loped off.

"Thanks for saving me. I'm Mickey." (Not the leatherman who never left South of Market -- another Mickey.)

"Boomer." I tried to hug him, but he stiffened -- not interested? Instead, he held out a slim hand to be shaken. Yes, his hand was warm to the touch.

"I don't go to gay bars much, and I don't know the rules yet. I thought if I just stood quietly, I'd be invisible."

"That's funny, it worked on my friend over there. I tried to point you as 'the cute guy in the brown jacket,' but he couldn't see you. Would you mind coming over so I can introduce you?"

I led him to where Kevin was standing. "Introducing Mickey, the Amazing Invisible Boy!"

Kevin stared, visibly frightened. "Um...very nice to meet you. Boomer, could I borrow you for a moment to discuss that project?"

He pulled me out of earshot. "You're out of your league with this one, Boomer. Better leave him alone."

"Why? Is he a hustler? A druggie?"

"No, but...it's difficult to explain. He's dangerous."

"He looks harmless to me. A little lonely, and kind of starved for affection. Why don't we invite him home?"

"No sharing tonight, sorry -- um, I'm not feeling well. And I'd advise you to pick someone else. I have to be running along now."

You never abandon someone in the midst of cruising -- it's just not done. But Kevin did.

It would pay to be prudent, of course, and not invite Mickey home instantly, so I took him to a Thai place on Folsom.

Yes, he ate.

And asked him the usual precautionary questions. Mickey was eager to talk.

He lived with his parents and younger brother in a small white house on Custer Road in Hayward, in the East Bay. He graduated from Tennyson High School. He had a job in a department store, and he was taking classes at the junior college in the hope of becoming a bookkeeper.

I asked about the stain on his shirt. He said it was probably spaghetti sauce, but he didn't remember where he got it.

It was starting to get dark. "I have to get to the station soon," Mickey said, looking apprehensively out the window. "The last train to Hayward leaves at 7:00 pm."

"Oh...I was hoping we could spend more time together. Why don't you come back to my place and spend the night? I'll spring for breakfast in the morning, and then put you on the BART."

He looked hesitant. "You're sure it won't be any trouble? I snore."

Back at my apartment, he took off his jacket and draped it on a kitchen chair. We watched Nick Freno, The Simpsons, King of the Hill, The X-Files, some old sitcoms on Nick at Night, ate ice cream, and talked, talked, cuddled, kissed, and talked.

Mickey wasn't out to anyone, and hadn't had sex with anyone but a high school friend. He turned 21 a few days ago. On a whim he took BART across the Bay, got off at the 16th Street Station, and looked for the nearest gay bar. That turned out to be the Eagle.

Finally it was midnight, past my bedtime. "I have to get up early," I said, "So we should go to bed. We don't have to do anything, if you don't want. We can just cuddle."

Mickey kissed me on the cheek. "You're the first guy I met with who didn't try to push me into the bedroom right away, But I have to go home now." He stood and walked around the couch toward the door.

"BART's closed. You'll have to spend the night..." I began. But he was gone!

He was only out of my sight for a second. He didn't have time to get to the door, and besides, it was still locked. I opened it and looked out onto the balcony and the street below. They were deserted.

I ran back and checked the bedroom and bathroom. No. Mickey had just vanished.

In retrospect, there were some weird things about him.
1. His invisibility.
2. Kevin's warning.
3. There aren't any junior colleges anymore. They're community colleges.
4. Who in the computer age studies to be a bookkeeper?
5. He didn't know how to use a VCR.
6. He had never seen The Simpsons.7. That weird stain, like a blood stain.
8. This was his first time in a gay bar, but he had taken several guys home before.

Had I been making out with a ghost? Maybe a boy who came to the City for his 21st birthday, was killed in a hate crime, and ever after has been trying to find his way home.

What would have happened if I insisted on bedroom activities?

The next day I called Kevin. He said, "I was just jealous that you were so into that Cute Young Thing. I'm sorry that my attempt to scare you away made you hallucinate."

By the way, I couldn't do a "Vanishing Hitchhiker" thing: Mickey took his jacket with him.

Some movies you go into expecting homophobia -- any comedy about young adult slackers, anything directed by Ron Howard, anything starring Will Smith. But sometimes the director or actors are gay, or the reviews suggest that the movie is gay-positive, and the homophobia hits you out of nowhere, like a slap in the face.

I heard that The Phone Call (1989), with Michael Sarrazin, was the most homophobic movie of all time, but it has to be Chuck & Buck (2000), just because the homophobia is so unexpected.

Mike White is the son of gay Christian advocate Mel White, author of Stranger at the Gate: To Be Gay and Christian in America. One would not expect him to be homophobic.

Chuck & Buck was actually advertised in gay publications! Sort of like advertising Birth of a Nation in Ebony.

The premise: Chuck (Chris Weitz) and Buck (Mike White) were gay boyfriends when they were kids.

Years have passed, and Chuck has grown up: he has a a house, a job, and a fiancee. And of course, he's now heterosexual But Buck hasn't grown up. He's living with his mother, he still likes childish things. And he's still gay.

When his mother dies, Buck remembers his lost boyfriend, and begins stalking him. Humorous complications ensue. Chuck is up for a "bit of fun," one last homoerotic fling, but he finally convinces Buck that he's got to move on. Being gay is fine for kids, but eventually you have to grow up, get a house, job, and wife, accept your heterosexual destiny.

But it's not merely a matter of acquiescing to the heterosexist mandate. When you grow up, you literally turn heterosexual.

What about adults who are gay? Well, they are, in the words of Mike White, "retards." They've experienced arrested development. They're terrified of adulthood, with its responsibilities and its ladies, so they get stuck in childhood.

Freud thought that, too: you're gay because you stopped at the oral stage of psychosexual development, and have yet to experience real, mature, heterosexual desire.

And Mr. Falwell -- um, I mean Mr. White -- expected gay people to eagerly accept this theory? Did he think he was writing for Will and Grace?

This is easily the most homophobic movie made in the U.S. since Cruising(1980). I would say "the world," but Poland's Floating Skyscrapersis a little worse.

Two years later, Mike White wrote the script for Orange County (2002), which has two gay characters ( played by Kyle Howard and RJ Knoll), but they actually are adolescents, so I can't tell if they have "arrested development" or not.

And director Miguel Arteta? The New Normal (2012).

By the way, the top photo is of Eric Nies, who has no connection to this movie, and has probably never even seen it.

When I was a kid in the 1960s, we couldn't ignore the resemblance between the hot dog and the penis. We used the word "wiener" for both. Consumption of the hot dog became a metaphor for sex, with the implication that whoever liked eating hot dogs also liked sex with men.

At summer camp the boys all made fun of anyone foolish enough to sing:

I love the Wiener Man, he owns the Wiener Stand
He'll eat most everything from hot dogs on down
Someday I'll join his life, I'll be his wiener wife.
Hot Dog! I love the Wiener Man!

Especially boys who aspired to become a "wiener wife."

A series of 1960s commercials involved hot-dog fans bullying a holdout into singing this song, providing us with more hilarity:

Oh, I'd love to be an Oscar Mayer Wiener, that is what I truly want to be
Cause if i were an Oscar Mayer Wiener, everyone would be in love with me.

Bragging that the hot dogs were "all beef" helped clarify what was meant.

The Oscar Mayer Wienermobile, a 27-foot long car shaped like a hot dog, was especially phallic. A fleet of them toured the country. One appeared in Rock Island at the Pow Wow every year (where I saw the Naked Indian God), sometimes at the Celtic Festival, and once at Denkmann Elementary School.

I liked the toy wienermobile the best. Even more phallic, if that's possible. Imagine that the base is an unzipped pair of brown pants.

There are currently 8 Wienermobiles on tour. The 12 drivers (8 women, 4 men) are selected from college students for year-long gigs.

They all have whimsical names, but I'd like to know more about Sizzlin' Steve (aka Mike Tierney) of the University of Missouri, a journalism major, and Stevie Bunder (aka Steve Johnson, left) of St. John's University in Minnesota, where he majored in environmental science and was on the lacrosse team.

Jul 24, 2015

I am rarely rejected for dates or hookups; so rarely, in fact, that when it happens, I'm shocked. I want to ask "Didn't you understand me?"

But rejections are useful. You can analyze them, identify your mistakes, and modify your technique for next time.

Here are 10 guys who got away:

1. The Cellist, a quiet, conservative music major named Charlie, one of Joseph's friends from the Gay Student Association at Indiana University. I don't know why he hung out in Bullwinkle's, a cruise bar. When I approached with a sleazy double-entendre, he said point blank: "You're not my type, so nothing is going to happen."

But he continued to hang out with us, so I continued to flirt with him.

I asked, with a leer. "What would you do if I groped you right now?" Buzzkill answered, "I would feel violated."

I tried to give him my phone number anyway, but he said: "You're not my type, so it would be pointless."

Problem: Trying too hard.

2. Richie Rich. Not his real name, obviously, but the son of a state senator who drove a Jaguar around campus and had a summer house on Cape Cod. I wasn't even attracted to him, but I liked the idea of sitting in that Jaguar next to him, and being invited to the summer house. So I asked him out. Not a chance!

Problem: Not really interested.

3. The Professor. When I was living in Hell-fer-Sartain, Texas, the worst place in the world.

We hooked up. He was short, solid, gifted beneath the belt, -- exactly my type! And a professor of English at the University of Houston, specializing in the Renaissance -- exactly my field of interest! I may have gone overboard with the "we have everything in common!" and "we were meant to be together!"

After breakfast the next morning, he gave me the wrong phone number.

Problem: Trying too hard.

4. The Widower. He was a husky blond bear, about 40 years old, a member of the West Hollywood Metropolitan Community Church. He had lost his lover of 10 years to AIDS a few months before we met. I asked him out about a year later, shortly after the breakup with my celebrity boyfriend. He agreed, but the night before our date, he called with an excuse. I think Alan told him that my preferred sexual positions weren't compatible with his.

A week later, I asked him to a dinner party at Alan's house; he agreed, but insisted on coming in his own car. He sat next to someone else, and started to leave without any alone time. "But..I wanted to..." I began.

"I know what you wanted!" he exclaimed, slamming the door behind him.

Problem: Gossip.

5. The Puppy Dog, a cute, cuddly guy that Lane and I decided to share. Unfortunately, we didn't inform him of our plan in advance. We just invited him over for dinner, and afterwards sat on the couch on either side of him and started grabbing.

Deer-caught-in-the-headlights staring didn't dissuade us -- we just assumed that he was up for the sharing -- until he bolted to his feet and ran for the door.

Problem: Not making our intentions clear in advance.

6. The Filipino Undergrad,#3 on My Sausage List. He came to my apartment to interview me on the problems of being a gay academic, and we ended up hooking up four or five times. Then I emailed him: "I want to be more than just a trick! Let's go out on a real date, with dinner and dancing and a kiss on the doorstep!" He bailed.

Problem: Trying too hard.

7. The Hottest Guy in the World. We met at the AIDS Conference in South Africa in the summer of 20000. Short, muscular, dark-skinned, religious, gifted beneath the belt, 6 of the 6 traits I find attractive! We went out to the bars together, and had an encounter in the dark room, but afterwards he would have nothing to do with me. Too old.

Problem: No time to work on him.

8. The Theater Buff, one of Blake's friends in Manhattan, an older guy with a nice physique, a hairy chest, and a bad toupee. Fascinating, with an intimate knowledge of old Hollywood. He used to go to the Trocadero with Bette Davis! So I accepted the date. Afterwards we went back to his elegantly furnished apartment and started making out, but every time I tried to touch his head, he pushed my hand away.

"Everybody knows about your toupee!" I exclaimed in frustration. "It's no big secret!"

Shrieking, he ran into the bedroom, slammed the door, and wouldn't come out.

Problem: Unaware of his quirks

9. The Jerk. This was in a dark room in France. The protocol is: since you can't see well enough to make eye contact, you stand directly in front of whoever you're interested in. If he's not interested, he moves away. This guy didn't move away. But when I touched him, he grabbed my hand and roughly pushed it aside.

I tried again, and got pushed away again.

"But...vous ne avez pas deplacer!" I exclaimed. You didn't move!

He growled: "Casse-toi!" F*k off!

"I have every right to be here!" I said in English.

We both stood there facing each other, refusing to move for a long time.

Problem: Guy wasn't interested

10. The Coffee Drinker. A cute, sleepy-looking lost soul who hung out at the Filling Station in Wilton Manors, Florida, drinking coffee instead of beer or a soft drink. He never interacted with anyone, but he was so cute, I thought I would try.

Day 1: I nodded in recognition. He glared.
Day 2: I gave him a friendly shoulder-grab. He shrugged me off.
Day 3: I said "Hi, my name's Boomer." He said: "I'm not interested in a relationship."
Day 4: He saw me coming and retreated to the other side of the bar.

Problem: ????Pop Quiz: Select any three, and explain what I should have done differently.

Jul 23, 2015

This is the continuation of the story of my visit to Yuri and Michael in London in 2007. You remember that I hooked up with a South Asian emo boy named Nehal at an Indie bar.Saturday nightTurns out that... Sorry, it's too risque to even give you a sample. Better read it on Tales of West Hollywood.

Jul 21, 2015

For fifty years children's tv has been a heteronormative wasteland, where same-sex desire exists, at best, in code and innuendo. But during the last two years, two programs on the Cartoon Network have introduced recurring same-sex couples.Steven Universe (2013-) is about three extraterrestrial gem-creatures -- Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl -- who live on the East Coast of the U.S. and fight evil, particularly the corrupt gems from their homeworld who want to destroy all humans.

Steven (voiced by Zach Callison, left) is the son of a fourth gem-creature, Rose, and her human partner, Greg Universe (a traveling musician who lives in a van).

He has inherited his mother's super-powers, so he assists the others, meanwhile engaging in ordinary kid adventures:

Steven gets upset when his favorite brand of ice cream sandwich is taken off the market.
He helps place a Moon Goddess statue atop the ruined Lunar Sea Spire
He is banned from his favorite restaurant.
He fights two corrupt gems who want to destroy the world.
He watches scary movies (after the last episode, one wonders what scares him).

The gems, including Steven, can fuse to produce new beings with their own distinct personalities. Steven fuses with his girlfriend Connie to produce Stevonnie, a tall, long-haired, androgynous being who is intensely attractive to boys and girls alike.

It turns out that Garnet is actually a fusion of Ruby and Sapphire, two smaller gems who fell in love and fused together so they would never be separated. They sometimes talk to each other beneath Garnet's personality.

When they appear separately, Sapphire is a passive, pretty blue woman with long blue hair, wearing a long dress, and Ruby is a more aggressive, macho red woman with short hair, wearing a maroon tank top.

Did I mention that they're both female? And their romance has been the focus of one episode, and referenced in three others?

"I was hoping that we could get together in bed again. Are you monogamous?"

"No, we share. But I didn't tell Michael about sharing with you. He's jealous, I think, because we lived together for a long time. You can ask tonight, maybe."

At dinner, Michael is still surly. When we go back to the apartment and sit on the couch to watch tv, Michael sits between me and Yuri. I grab his knee, but he pushes my hand away. Then, overcome by jet lag, I doze off. I vaguely remember someone stretching me out on the couch and putting a blanket over me.

June 2 (Saturday)
I get up at dawn and go into the bedroom to awaken Yuri and Michael with hugs, and hopefully get an invitation into their bed.

"Sorry we overslept, mate," Michael says, pushing me away. "We'll be up soon -- just give us a minute for private time, right?"

I don't mind not "sharing" Michael -- I've been with lots of bodybuilders. But I want to hold Yuri in my arms again.

We have breakfast and go to the gym together, where Michael and I can compete over who can bench-press the most.

Afterwards I try to score some points by suggesting that we go on a tour of Wembly Stadium, where Londoners gather to watch football, but Michael says "Sorry, I'm very busy today. But you and Yuri go on. Get your sunglasses and cameras, and take a tour of Buckingham Palace. Maybe Prince William is taking a shower, yeah?"

He is joking, but since Prince William is 25 years old, it's obvious that he's into young guys. Yuri is 31, but could pass for a teenager.

Yuri and two of his friends drive me out to Stonehenge, and later we rendez-vous with Michael at the Gay Hussar, near their apartment. It isn't actually gay-specific; it serves Hungarian food.

"What do you want to do tonight?" Yuri asks. "We can go cruising. There are lots of nice gay bars in Soho."

"Sure, that would be great. Would you guys mind if I brought someone home?"

"Not at all," Michael says, "If you don't mind blankets on the floor."

I'll bet if I bring a twink home, Michael will suggest more than that.

Yuri hands me a guide book. All types of gay bars, just like in West Hollywood. Leather -- drag -- older guys -- twinks -- and Indie! Obviously British slang for Indian. This must be a bar for South Asians and their admirers, like the bars for black and Asian men in West Hollywood.
"How about this Indie bar just off the Strand. I love South Asian guys!"

"It doesn't..." Yuri begins.

"Now, Yuri, don't be rude, like Londoners. If our guest wants to go to an Indie bar, he can go to an Indie bar."

So we go to the Retro Bar.

You guessed it -- Indie doesn't mean Indian. It's a type of music: Independent, not signed on to a mainstream record label. Often local groups with an eccentric sound.

How was I to know? I haven't listened to popular music regularly since around 1985. I think Avril Lavigne is a French children's author, and Fergie is Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York.

Indie music is horrible, all screeching and incomprehensible lyrics.

And the patrons are very young, barely out of their teens. Some are probably in their teens. We are the only guys over 25 in sight.

I like twinks as much as the next guy, but I feel very out of place in their hangout.

Besides, they aren't clean-cut, muscular college jocks. They are emo, Goth, and scene kids: thin, pale androgynous, with straight black hair, hoodies, shirts emblazoned with cartoon characters, mascara-ed eyes, multiple tattoes, and pierced everything. Not my type at all! Certainly not worth bringing home in the hope of fondling Yuri.

We commandeer a pedestal-table and order expensive juice drinks.

"The guys here are cute, yeah?" Michael says with an evil grin. "So many Desis (South Asians)! But the music is horrible, all screeching and shaking. Not a lot of David Cassidy!"

I'm not going to let him know how uncomfortable I am! "No, Indie music is great. I had no idea. I really love - the Futureheads."

During the 1960s, Captain Ernie's Cartoon Showboat often showed Popeye cartoons. They were awful, nothing but heterosexist morality plays. In every single one of them, the absurdly macho sailor Popeye and Bluto vied for affections of sexist stereotype Olive Oyl, they fought, and Bluto was pulverized (even though he had a far superior physique).

Then in 1979, I stumbled upon a book called Popeye: His First Fifty Years, which talked about Castor Oyl, Ham Gravy, King Blozo, Tor, and Oscar. Who were these people?

I discovered that the cartoons were the latest incarnations of E.C. Segar's "Thimble Theater" comic strip, which began in 1919, starring get-rich-quick schemer Castor Oyl and his wise-cracking sister Olive. In a 1929 continuity, Castor hired gruff one-eyed sailor Popeye for a sea voyage. He became so popular that Segar added him to the cast, honed down his rough edges, and eventually made him the star of the strip. It continues to run in some newspapers today.

There have been Popeye comic books almost continuously since 1948, published by Dell, Gold Key, Charlton, Harvey, and IDW.

There's a lot of gay content in the comic strip and comic book Popeye:

1. He's sweet on Olive Oyl, but his main emotional bond is with Castor. They run a detective agency together, rescue each other from danger, argue, break up, and reconcile.

2. Popeye has no interest in women other than Olive, but he develops several gay-subtext male friendships, notably with King Blozo.

Similarly, he becomes the object of desire of several men. Reformed villain Tor keeps trying to kiss Popeye and saying that he loves him.

In fact, male friendships drive far more plots than quests for heterosexual romance.

3. The comic strips and comic books mostly occur in male homosocial spaces -- ships, boxing rings, detective agencies. But Olive constantly disrupts those spaces. The other characters keep telling her to "wait here" or "stay home where it's safe," but she is a full participant in every adventure. And when there's trouble, she proves herself a competent fighter, as good or better than Popeye himself.

4. Popeye has no qualms about gender transgressions. He frequently dresses in women's clothing to accomplish some plot point. When he becomes the ward of the infant Swee'Pea, he joins a women-only parenting class.

All that changed in the heterosexist "every man's fantasy" world of the cartoons.

Jul 19, 2015

You may know that I have a thing for religious boys, especially clergy. I love the juxtaposition of the spiritual and the physical, the penises hidden beneath their gaudy robes, the erotic desire that surely presents itself soon after they celebrate the mystery of death and resurrection at that gaudy altar.

My dating and hooking-up record among Men of the Cloth is limited. Lots of religious guys, and some lapsed clergy and seminarians, but no currently active Catholic priests, evangelical preachers, Buddhist monks, Jewish rabbis, or Muslim imams.

When Gay Was Unspoken

Beefcake, male bonding, and gay symbolism in the movies, tv programs, books, toys, and comics of a Baby Boomer childhood. Some autobiographical stories and stories about beefcake around the world.

Note: Most posts are about how gay people can find meaning in homophobic or heterosexist texts. If you don't want to hear about that, stay away. No profanity, insults, anti-gay slurs, name-calling,or homophobia allowed. You will be blocked, and comments on the post will be disabled.